some numbers have such great meaning sometimes to some and sometimes, to some, some numbers have sum meaning and some sums have even more meaning than some numbers, even more than the some numbers they once were some time before...

sum thing in the way she moves...

most of the years of my young life before leaving NYC, I cooked with gas... literally, I mean, the stove had gas burners and I did not realize how spoiled I was to have actual flame under pots... since leaving NYC, especially since moving here to Florida, I've learned to tolerate an electric range, but I would not actually say I cook with electricity... it would be fair to say I loved cooking with gas... I heat things up with electricity...

I thought about this because of a TV commercial for propane (a real commerical, not a King Of The Hill episode) and because I cooked some old favorite food this week and it reminded me of how it felt to be home, comfortable in every way in every space of a place I called home... with a person I called home... when I called myself home...

what is your location?

place is a strange concept, so much in the mind... and of late I've presented myself with the challenge of living is a space that is often dirty with food stained counters, smelly sinks and garbage, and clutter from stuff left wherever it is put down... the couches are always cluttered with their stuff so I don't even think about inviting anyone over (at least they leave my big green chair alone)... and being the chameleon I am, I've adapted and taken on similar habits in many ways (don't do laundry as often as I'd like to and stuff piles up in my room... and mail and CDs and paper stuff piles up around my chair)... though not in the kitchen, for I do my best to draw a line about creating a welcome environment for ants and roaches and vermin (it just seems to get out of hand so quickly when I am the only one cleaning up in a daily basis... doing dishes and cleaning counters once a week allows for such a mess to build up... and I don't know if they ever look at the floor)...

we can always say the mice did it...

ah, I joke and laugh at the reference to the numbers again, but when I sit back and take a serious look around and feel the vibs of this space, it's the home feeling I miss most and that came from being home in myself and home with someone else who shared a deeper perspective and similar habits and more of the space... and feeling comfortable with inviting someone over to sit back and relax here, that is the part of feeling at home I miss the most... I am learning that when I live in a space with people who are not clean and leave their stuff everywhere, I don't feel like it is my space... it looks and feels careless, like the people who live here do not care about the space...

more like a garage than a home...

and when I feel motivated to clean up (knowing it'll last a few hours, or a day at most), I realize that I don't have time to relax or get enough sleep if I want to keep the place clean... and these are moments when I'd just like to find some happy drug and get stoned or wasted and just sit back here with a spaced out smile and forget all the responsibilities of life for a while...

sounds like I cut my hair (four and twenty years ago, coming to this land), without ever touching a single strand (oh that is a sad thought if you understand it's depths)...

so why do I choose this sad illusion these days (when i know it is my choice)?... why do I... the fool still waiting for someone to save me? (oh geesh, I sure do home not... now there's a typo, huh?... did you realize I meant I hope not?... asnyway, I'm not really all that saveable, being the stubbornly independent rebel I can be)...

meanwhile, in the real world (what?... and where were we?... ah, the deranged mind shall seldom tell, not so anybody'd be able to catch it clearly, at least), Nicole DeBoer was nice to look at in an episode of The Outer Limits... now there's a face that could motivate me... maybe... definitely a face that could melt me... in case you were wondering (like anybody was... but distraction is the key to survival in the madhouse, remember... in the the garden, remember?)...

and I sit here bloated up to a point where my abdominal muscles will not pull my belly back to flat (for the first time in years today, which is a very strange feeling that I have not felt in many years and I wonder why anyone would do this to their body, except to experiment as I do not and then with how different physical conditions effect perspective and sensory awareness... I guess most people do it without being consciously aware of it, which is an even strange concept to me than actually doing it for a little while just to experience it)...

but the food was delicious and did I mention I found some Fox's U-Bet chocolate syrup in the store?... that was the chocolate syrup of my early childhood and oh what sensory memories that woke up (ah, perhaps there's the rub that brought this genie out of it's lamp, huh?)... and the theatre called back to confirm eight more tickets for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, so we'll be a party of eleven, six from work, my two roommates, Helen and one of the regular actors (she's great) from many of the other productions, and me... big group for a theatre that holds maybe sixty people... it should be fun... anybody else wanna come? (gotta reserve tickets now, if they have any left... it's October 30th, 8pm)...

and the people still come piling out of the vans every morning to bang on the roof and walls (today they pound on the apartment next door again, making sleep a far off thought), paint walls, scrape windows, and generally create noise and construction...

find the glass half full, grasshopper...

yes, ok, so it's all a matter of perspective... and cleaning up the space is possible, even if there's no place to invite anyone over to sit and relax in any privacy... the rebuilding is constructive, even if it's done by people who leave a mess and make a lot of noise because they don't live here and just see this as another constuction site... and so what if it's been months since there was peace and quiet and all the pretty amenities we pay a small fortune for here at casa de candoor, home is inside and I am still in here... even if I pretend I can't find me more often than not these days, sometimes well enough to fool myself into believing it...

have I complicated everything enough to keep everyone away yet?...

it's all a test, you know (well, you probably don't but that's the test too, after all, who knows)... the one who understands and laughs in all the right places and sheds the right tear in the right quantity at the right moments (and who knows how and when to say let's clean up this mess just right) is the one who fits the rather warped space just next to mine in this universe... that's the final number in the combination lock that opens the magic box that romantic hearts and little children dream of...

be naked to your dreams, my child, and let them touch you inside...

and which number is that one?

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)